


Let's Fall

by alreadysomeone



Category: JAG (TV 1995)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:21:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27152392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alreadysomeone/pseuds/alreadysomeone
Summary: A sappy and cute little fic.  Webb returns to DC with a sunnier outlook on life, and lookin’ for love – an evening out with the “JAG gang” proves to be fruitful.
Relationships: Sarah MacKenzie/Clayton Webb





	Let's Fall

**Author's Note:**

> I have this CD of Tom Wopat (you know, Luke Duke from The Dukes of Hazzard ) … My boyfriend and I were supposed to see Douglas Sills (of Scarlet Pimpernel fame) doing a little “cabaret” show, but he had to cancel. Tom Wopat came in his place, and much to our surprise, did a great set of jazz tunes. Anyway, we bought his CD, and had it autographed (to go with the autographed CD from Charo, which is another story all together). Anyway, the first track on the Tom Wopat CD is “Let’s Fall In Love,” and it caught my fancy.  
> Timeline: Up through "Need to Know."

//WEBB//

Reassignment to Suriname was the best thing that could have happened to me. I’ll be damned if I ever admit that to anyone, especially the DCI; but most of all, Harmon Rabb. I had a hell of a time believing it myself, at first.

The burn-out rate in the intelligence field is high. In the CIA, it’s astronomical. I’d come to realize that last fall when I was brushing up against the first stages of burnout myself. There’s no doubt in my mind that it was one of several motivations for leaking the Angel Shark video. 

The physically and mentally taxing back to back operations over the past seven years, have taken their toll. No one can keep up that kind of pace for too long, without something giving. Sure, I wanted the Angel Shark families to have closure, but I also had more selfish reasons: I needed something to shake up my career – I just didn’t know it at the time. 

For the first three months in Suriname I sulked, felt sorry for myself, and blamed Rabb. It took a lot of nights of fitful, or no, sleep to figure out that I’d landed *myself* in Paramaribo, and no one else could be held responsible for my situation. The next stage was to feel like a failure for pulling such a stupid stunt. Gradually, I came to recognize that I’d done it precisely *because* of the career-wrecking consequences. It was then that I’d typed up my letter of resignation and had even sealed it in an envelope, ready to mail. I figured if I’d let the stress get to me that way, and was going to essentially sabotage my own career, why continue with the charade of even working for the Company? 

Something inside prevented me from putting that letter in the outgoing mail. True insight didn’t come until weeks later, however. There was no near-death experience or lightning bolt of insight. Instead, it was a woman who helped me untangle the web of my motivations: Therese, from the Canadian consulate. 

It was a brief fling. Not a one night stand, by any means, but more of a mutual agreement that it wasn’t anything serious. Just two adults, far away from home, doing what adults do. She was still nursing the wounds of a year-old divorce, and hadn’t been able to move on. I needed someone to distract me from my geographic purgatory and sense of failure. Ironically, my relationship with Therese helped me see that I still felt passionately about my job. And, equally surprising, was that our relationship, as non-committal as it was, made me *want* to commit to someone – once I was back in DC. 

Therese and I had met at an incredibly boring reception at the Libyan Embassy. I was working; I’d bet big money she was too. My contact never showed, and I guess Therese was finished with her particular mission for the night, too. We made eye contact across the room, met at the bar, drank, danced, and talked. And ended the night in her bed. I figured it for a one-night stand – not something I was in the habit of doing – but neither was being banished to Paramaribo. However, things between Therese and me turned into a surprisingly easy friendship, and the physical companionship was, I admit, quite nice, too. 

I was positive Therese was with some branch of Canadian intelligence, and I knew she was aware of the true identity of my employer, but we never talked about it. Since neither of us ever mentioned work, we discussed more personal things. We talked about what went wrong in her marriage; I admitted that I was lonely in my relatively reserved life. Therese and I were good company for each other. I found myself telling her that I wanted to get married and have a family some day. The notion didn’t seem to surprise Therese, but it shocked the hell out of me. 

Eight weeks after we met, Therese was transferred. I was sad to see her go. I missed my friend. I would have other lovers, but our time together had meant a lot to me. Even with both of us promising to keep up with one another’s lives, we knew we probably wouldn’t. Sometimes, the time and place is just right for a relationship like ours. Suriname was like that in a lot of ways; things seemed to fall into place for no apparent reason. 

The best example of that was my transfer back to DC. After Therese left, I re-focused on work with renewed energy. I approached even the most rudimentary of tasks with interest and concentration. And one day, out of the blue, I got the call: come back to Langley; better office, bigger staff. The DCI himself made the request. Enough time had passed, I guess, and even at the CIA, the next scandal leaves the last one quickly forgotten. 

I was ready to go home. Any earlier, and it would have been counterproductive; I’d have sabotaged myself all over again, in some new, and probably more spectacular or dangerous way. 

It’s such a cliché, but I felt like a new man when I came home. The familiar landscape of the DC area somehow looked fresh to me, and even my townhouse seemed different. Lying in my bed at night, staring up at the ceiling, I tried to catalog what had changed. I was happy with work, feeling a new outlook on life in general, but was beginning to really feel the absence of the last piece of the puzzle of my life – the desire for a serious relationship with a woman, which I’d admitted to Therese. 

This morning, after three and a half weeks back at Langley, I called Admiral Chegwidden for his input on a CIA/Marine joint op in Afghanistan. AJ sounded genuinely happy to hear from me, and we set an appointment for first thing Monday morning. Even with my renewed and dare I say sunny attitude, I was surprised how genuinely glad I was to be back in touch with him. After dispensing with business, we talked like old friends. Before hanging up, AJ invited me to join the JAG staff for a drink to celebrate Commander Turner’s birthday. Though I hardly know Commander Turner, I readily accepted, looking forward to seeing my friends from JAG again, and under such different circumstances than our usual encounters. 

THAT EVENING…

Pulling into the parking lot of the establishment to which AJ’d given me directions, I cut the engine, set the parking brake, and hop right out of my car, grabbing the bottle of scotch I picked up as a gift for Turner. I’ve almost got that giddy confidence that comes from time away, and I acknowledge that I could possibly be a bit anxious about seeing certain people again. Okay, a certain person. All right: Sarah MacKenzie. 

I’ve never had many friends, but, the truth is, I like to be around people. I’m just more comfortable one-on-one. I can observe a crowd, or small groups of people, and tell you almost instantly what the relationships are between the participants – who’s the aggressor, which one of them would be more likely to commit a crime, or turn in a friend to the authorities. But put me in the middle of one of those conversations, and I stiffen right up. I can fake it pretty well, but, on a personal level, I don’t like it one bit. 

I don’t think that basic trait will ever change. But for some reason I’m feeling more social tonight. And I’m looking inordinately forward to seeing Sarah. I guess for a while, in the back of my head, up through my confession to Therese that I’d like a wife and a family, to the amount of time it took me to pick out what to wear tonight, I knew I had Sarah in mind. 

I walk with purpose across the parking lot, scanning the other cars, wondering if everyone’s still driving the same vehicles that I knew them to have before I left. I spot AJ’s enormous SUV, and Rabb’s classic Corvette, but not Sarah’s later model. It strikes me that Sarah could already here, too, but that she came with Rabb. Maybe that’s what kept her in the back of my head all this time, rather than in the forefront: Rabb and the seemingly unbreakable hold he’s had over her for so long. I hope the spell’s finally been broken. 

I walk into the place, and am immediately greeted by a slap on the back from AJ. “Webb! Glad you could come!” 

I turn, smiling, and greet the powerful presence of the Admiral. However, our friendly salutations are interrupted. 

“Clay?” 

It’s Rabb, questioning my presence. It would appear that the Admiral didn’t see fit to inform his staff that I’d be joining them this evening. My good mood holds steady, though, and I’m relieved to find that I don’t care what kind of crap Rabb wants to throw my way. 

“Harm, nice to see you again.” I’d like it to be true, but I’m reserving judgment. 

“When did they let you back in the country?” he jokes, an immediate high-wattage smile covering his face. 

“Almost a month ago.” 

“Well, it’s good to see you back in town. Excuse me, I promised someone a drink.” 

Okay, that went better than I expected. He was neutrally friendly. I find that I’m not moved one way or the other by his benign teasing, but am more curious about who he’s buying a drink for. Is it Sarah, another woman, Sturgis, or maybe another birthday well-wisher in the party? 

I follow Harm with my eyes as he steps up to the bar, through the throng of people, and orders two beers. Well, it’s not Sarah he’s buying for. Beyond that, I guess I don’t really care. 

AJ walks me over to the group of JAG staff members who’ve taken up two small tables in one of the corners of the crowded bar. 

“Commander Turner. Happy birthday,” I say, extending not my hand, but the bottle of scotch. 

He takes a critical look at the label, and I watch as an appreciative expression comes over his features. “Why, thank you, Clay. This is quite a bottle. I will enjoy this very much.” 

“My pleasure.” 

I take in the rest of the group, and am taken aback at the hug I get from Harriet Sims, and the hearty handshake that comes from her husband. I can feel myself tensing up at the attention, which I’m unaccustomed to. Just on the verge of saying something sarcastic in a reflexive reaction, I’m saved from myself by the music that starts up. 

I hadn’t noticed the jazz combo on the small raised dais in the opposite corner of the bar. The singer, a tiny woman in her mid fifties, takes the mic from the stand and begins to sing in a voice that seems the opposite of her wispy stature. I recognize the song as Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered, from the show “Pal Joey.” Her voice is soft and sultry, and the tempo is slow and very sexy. AJ quickly introduces me to his fiancée, Meredith, before whisking her off to the tiny dance floor that’s set up in front of the band. 

I still haven’t spotted Sarah yet, and am just about to inquire about her whereabouts, when Bud engages me in a conversation about Suriname. I’ve started to feel quite sentimental about the country, and know my mother is tired of hearing about it, so I’m happy to have a friendly ear to discuss the landscape and culture with. 

When Sturgis asks a question about drug trafficking through Suriname, I turn to answer him, and see Sarah MacKenzie approaching the table, holding what looks like a soda in each hand. She’s sort of looking right at me, but doesn’t seem to see or recognize me. Either that, or she’s damned good at keeping her thoughts and feelings off her face. The CIA part of my brain makes a note to get her on more ops, but the rest of me just stares at her, while my mouth goes on autopilot, explaining to Sturgis how Suriname’s becoming increasingly dependent on the economic benefits of drug trafficking. 

Sarah’s wearing a stretchy looking skirt covered with a large flowered pattern that falls just to her knees. On top, she’s got on a fitted black button down blouse, with the sleeves rolled up, and the buttons undone at the top. She looks even more fantastic than I remembered. 

“Here you go, Harriet.” Sarah sets one of the drinks in front of her friend, and takes a sip of the other, as she sits down right next to me. 

Just as casually, she pulls a coaster over, sets her glass on it, turns, and hugs me close. 

“Welcome back, Clay. The Admiral said you might come tonight; I’m glad you did.” 

I find it interesting that AJ didn’t seem to mention my expected presence here tonight to anyone else, and I file the question away for later. For now, I’m satisfied to simply concentrate on the closeness of Sarah MacKenzie. She smells fresh and clean, but a little like vanilla, or something not overly fruity. 

Sad to be released from her embrace, I smile, and ask how she’s been. 

“I’m sitting on the bench now; you’d love the way I put Harm in his place when he litigates in front of me,” Sarah says, as she gives me a sly look over the rim of her glass. 

I didn’t know she’d been presiding, but it’s easy to imagine her putting the same kind of dedication into that role as she’s done with every other assignment she’s had. Bud and Harriet laugh sheepishly at her remark about putting Harm in his place, and Sturgis just shakes his head. 

“I seem to have missed some important, and I gather, humorous developments around here. Not to mention, some rather joyous ones.” I take the opportunity to acknowledge Harriet’s obvious pregnancy. My best guess is that she’s seven or eight months along. 

“Yes, thank you,” Harriet smiles, looks at Bud, and automatically places her hand on her belly. 

The band finishes their set, and I get the idea that I want to ask Sarah to dance later in the evening. She’s sitting so close to me, and the atmosphere between us just feels “easy.” In fact, the feeling between everyone is very comfortable. 

AJ and Meredith return to the table, and it strikes me that I haven’t seen Harm since he was at the bar with his two beers. 

“Where’s Harm?” I turn in my seat and ask Sarah. 

“With Kara – his latest conquest. Um, sorry, his recently acquired girlfriend.” The disgusted face she makes almost lasts, but she cracks, and the laughter that follows assures me that Sarah no longer harbors feelings for her former partner. 

I look to the rest of the group, who are trying not to follow suit, making every effort to keep straight faces. 

“Okay, fess up, Sarah. What’s the story?” 

“No story really. Let’s just say, she’s more ‘Renee’ than Renee.” 

“Charming.” Renee wasn’t a bad person, per se. And, she certainly tried to tame the untamable Harmon Rabb. But she was a bit over the top for my tastes, and apparently for the likes of this generally sensible group, as well.

Sarah puts her hand on my arm, which is resting on the table, for just a moment. “He changed her tire on the side of the road, and she tried to recruit him for some print ads for men’s clothing – which he didn’t end up doing, but they’ve been dating for three months. I think he was just so happy his ‘flyboy’ grin still worked.” 

“He flashed me one when I came in, but it didn’t seem to have quite the same affect on me.” 

My line receives hearty laughs from Sarah and AJ, and appreciative chuckles from the rest. There’s a lull in the conversation, and I’m trying to figure out how to get Sarah to touch me again. Or how I can touch her. 

The conversation shifts, leaving Sarah and I to talk to each other. No complaints here. 

“Any handsome men change your tires recently, Sarah?” 

“Literally, or figuratively?” 

“Uh, sorry.” I guess that did sound like a veiled personal question. 

“It’s okay. I can change my own flats. However, I’m on my own for the other thing. I’ll spare you my clever answer about how ‘changing your own tires’ isn’t all that satisfying after a while.”   
She starts out light and laughing, a mischievous smile on her lips, but when I lean in a bit because the music’s started again and harder to carry on a conversation, Sarah startles me with an intense gaze. 

“No need to spare me,” I say, while I reach for the glass of scotch Sturgis had poured for me, and take a much-needed sip. This conversation has turned, quite suddenly, very sexy. 

We’re staring at each other, and I’m at a total loss. As good as I am at reading people, for the life of me, I can’t figure out what’s going on behind the deep russet of her eyes. This is certainly uncharted territory for us, though not something I hadn’t hoped for. I wonder if by some miracle, she’d hoped for it, too. 

Sarah finally responds to my challenge, “Well, maybe sometime you can give me a hand with my tires.” 

There’s no doubt about her meaning, especially because she’s put her hand on my knee, and is squeezing it rhythmically. 

//MAC// 

Something unexpected is happening here. Which isn’t to say that I’ve never had a sexual thought about Clayton Webb. But his arrogance and the stand-offish-ness, which seem to have dominated his interpersonal relationships, were always enough to discount him as a potential romantic interest, in spite of the sexual tension I’d sometimes felt between us. The occasional easy and friendly moments we’ve had have been abbreviated, and always immediately followed by a wry retort or sarcastic comment. 

It’s not the kind of thing that’s conducive to fostering a desire to get to know someone better. I’d always assumed he’d be just as frustratingly obtuse in his relations with women as Harm is. And in spite of the desire I’d had on occasion to flirt with him, I had suppressed it, sure that he’d end up making me feel like a fool for it. 

When the Admiral and I met this morning, he told me that Clay was back from Suriname. It wasn’t until then that I realized I’d put him out of my mind, probably because I was ashamed that he’d landed there because of my pushy partner. Guilt over forgetting his banishment to South America flooded me. At the same time, I was anxious to see him; overwhelmingly so. 

Maybe some part of me wanted to start from scratch with Clay. Not doing him a favor on some mission, not in Afghanistan, and not because one of our clients had some importance to the CIA; but as two people who’d known each other for almost eight years, and as someone I’d grown to respect deeply. And someone I suddenly felt quite inclined to pursue. 

My change of heart about Clay has come on the heels of other shifts in my life. I’ve found that, while I miss some of the excitement of investigations and litigating, I really love sitting on the bench. It’s a role to which I think I’ve risen quite well. It’s given me the confidence in my career that I’d been missing. I was afraid of stagnating, and being halted at my current rank. Now, I’ve got renewed energy for the law and for my place in the Navy. 

I think that’s what made me finally give up the ghost of Harm. I’d never want to give him up entirely, he’s my friend, and the best partner I’ve ever had. Rather, it was more of a release. Releasing, I think, both of us, from the ridiculous unspoken, albeit at times intense, feelings between us. 

Happy and relaxed, I’d been enjoying socializing with my co-workers, and, when Clay showed up, my mood got even better. As soon as I turned away from the bar, holding Diet Cokes for both Harriet and me, I saw him. He was talking with Bud, Harriet, and Sturgis, and looking really handsome. Not just handsome, but *really handsome*. Dressed in dark slacks and a freshly pressed white button down oxford shirt, open at the collar, he looked relaxed and sexy – the way I’d imagined he was behind the arrogant wall he puts up. Behind the wall that had turned me off of any ideas of flirting with him before. 

I’d gotten a kick out of telling him about Kara. I think we’ve all been snickering about Harm and Kara since he met her. Sharing the joke with Clay was fun. And it started the ball rolling. Well, *he* started the ball rolling, asking if anyone had changed my tires recently. It was a pretty typically dry comment from Clay, but there was a sexy edge to his voice. Next thing I knew, I was hinting that pleasuring myself wasn’t cutting it anymore… and grasping his knee. 

I can’t even begin to imagine where this conversation is going. I kind of know where I’d like it to go, but we’re sitting at a table full of my co-workers, and if we keep going with the tire changing metaphor, that’ll get old really fast. 

The room gets quiet all of a sudden when the song ends. Then applause fills the empty aural space. Clay and I turn towards the band, and clap appreciatively. I think he’s also unsure of how to continue our conversation, without it turning ridiculous. But then he turns to face me, and smiles; I know right away that he’s got no doubts about how he wants this conversation to proceed. And I feel a nervous excitement in my stomach in reaction to the absolute confidence he’s exuding, and the way he’s staring at me. It makes me feel confident, too, so I don’t break eye contact with him, I stare right back and wait to see what he’ll do or say. Not that I mind being under the scrutiny of his hazel eyes, which are making me feel like they can see right through my brown eyes into the core of me. It’s the yellow flecks that edge the darker green of his irises that have me captivated. 

“Let’s dance,” he says, glancing to the dance floor, then back me again. 

“Sure.” 

I wasn’t expecting that. Though, the idea is certainly appealing. I’d love to be able to touch him, and be in a place where we can carry on a more private conversation. 

We stand and Clay takes my hand as we walk through the crowd of people. He looks back, to gauge my reaction I think, and I smile encouragingly. He grins back, and squeezes my hand twice, in quick succession. It’s a reassuring gesture, more “friendly” than sexy. I move my thumb over the back of his hand, slowly, and in circles. And though it takes just a few seconds to get to the dance floor, by the time we’re there, his thumb is stroking my hand as well. Nothing simply “friendly” about what’s going on now. The chorus of the song is just starting when we turn to face one another to dance. 

~Let's fall in love  
Why shouldn't we fall in love?  
Our hearts are made of it  
Let's take a chance  
Why be afraid of it~ 

The tempo’s not quite slow but not quite quick either and Clay takes me in a traditional dance embrace: his left arm firmly around me with his thumb on my spine and his right arm bent out and up, my hand in his. We’re nearly the same height, though he’s just a bit taller than I am, and our bodies fit well together. He’s obviously an experienced dancer, and it’s easy to follow his lead; we’re whirling around pretty effortlessly. 

~Let's close our eyes and make our own paradise  
Little we know of it, still we can try  
To make a go of it  
We might have an end for each other  
To be or not be  
Let our hearts discover~ 

“You seem really happy, Clay. Glad to be back?” He’s so much more relaxed and at ease. I’m sure at least part of it’s because he’s back home, though I suspect there’s more to it than that. 

“Very. But Suriname was good for me. And if you ever let that slip to Rabb, I’ll put a sweeper on you.” 

I laugh. “Not a chance. Your secret is safe with me. Why the change of heart? Harm said you were, understandably, not very happy about the situation before you left.” 

~Let's fall in love  
Why shouldn't we fall in love?  
Now is the time for it, while we are young  
Let's fall in love~ 

“Let’s just say, the change in scenery did me some good. Kind of an enforced vacation.” 

“Well, I like the effect it’s had on you. It’s nice to see you so light hearted.” 

“Thanks. You, too.” 

I don’t really feel a pressing need to question him further about his time in Paramaribo, and I don’t get the impression from Clay that he’s going to question my positive frame of mind, either. There’s a surprisingly comfortable silence between us, and we just leave it at that for a bit. 

I settle into Clay’s embrace a little more, and just enjoy the feel of his hands guiding me through the dance. He feels warm and solid, but I’d describe the way he smells as “soft.” It’s a clean scent and it’s making me want to bury my nose in the crook of his neck, where I’d be able to feel the fabric of his shirt, and nuzzle his skin. To stop myself, I concentrate on watching the other couples on the dance floor; if I’m going to put the moves on Clay Webb, I’m not sure I want to do it in sight of the JAG ops staff. 

~We might have and end for each other  
To be or not be  
Let our hearts discover~ 

“You’re a great dancer, Clay. A good leader makes such a big difference.” 

Clay leans back a bit to bring his face in line with mine, so we’re eye to eye, and he nails me with a distinctly devilish grin. “Takes two to tango, Sarah. You’re a really responsive partner; we fit well together.” 

At that, Clay nudges my torso closer to his and we’re in full body contact now. 

“Yes, we do,” I say into his ear and let my chest rub against his, as we move in time to the music. 

~Let's fall in love  
Why shouldn't we fall in love?  
Now is the time for it, while we are young  
Let's fall in love~ 

When the song ends, I don’t want to let go. Clay obviously doesn’t either, because we’re clinging together much longer than the rest of the couples on the dance floor. I wish the band weren’t taking another break, so we could keep dancing. Clay and I finally step apart, but stay close together as we walk back to our table, his hand on my lower back. 

A half a step behind me, Clay leans forward to whisper in my ear, “Did you drive here? I didn’t see your car in the lot.” 

I lean back, kind of into his chest, to answer, tilting my head back and around. To hear me, Clay angles his head forward even more, putting his ear next to my mouth. This position is even more intimate than when we were dancing; it’s really turning me on. I can feel his breath on my skin, and can tell his mouth is almost touching my neck. 

"I came with Bud and Harriet,” I manage to say, through the distraction of his physical proximity. 

“Can I drive you home?” he breathes into my ear. And when I nod “yes,” he drops a fast kiss just below my ear, right before we rejoin Sturgis, Bud, and Harriet at the table. 

They tell us that Harm’s long gone and that the Admiral and Meredith just said their goodbyes. A look gets shot between Bud and Harriet that I recognize as the “let’s go home,” signal. 

“You guys look ready to head out.” 

“I don’t mean to be a party pooper, but it’s tiring being seven and a half months pregnant,” Harriet apologizes. 

“You two go on, I can give Sarah a ride home,” Clay says amiably, as if it were the most natural of occurrences, and seeming perfectly at ease at being social with Bud and Harriet. 

“I think it’s time for me to turn in, as well. I promised Bud we’d run in the morning, right, Lieutenant?” Sturgis reminds Bud. 

“Yes, sir.” Bud sounds like he’s not looking quite as forward to the jog as Sturgis is. Harriet and I share a smile at his reluctance. 

Once everyone’s settled up their portions of the tab, and taken off, it’s just Clay and me. He turns his chair to face mine. “Finally.” 

I couldn’t agree more. We lean in, closer and closer, smiling silly smiles at each other, until our lips meet. Soft and slow at first, it mirrors the warm, friendly rapport we’ve been enjoying all night. The easy pace doesn’t last long, when I reach out to touch him, bringing my hand to his knee and sliding it high up on his thigh. As I do, Clay threads his fingers through my hair at the back of my neck, bringing me closer to him. Our pose becomes uncomfortable as we try to maneuver our bodies together, but can’t really manage it, because our knees are hitting, and our chairs are in the way. 

“Ready to go?” I ask, thinking we can continue this in a more comfortable setting, like my apartment. 

“Very.” 

Clay puts his sports car to good use, breaking the speed limit on just about every stretch of the 25-minute drive to Georgetown. We hold hands on the way, maneuvering the stick shift together. At a couple of stoplights, we meet over the gear shifter and kiss some more. We’re holding back, though, not accelerating our kisses or venturing our touches any farther than our legs and thighs. 

We find good parking on my block, which is a minor miracle, and I invite him up. It’s an unnecessary formality, since I think we both know where this evening is heading, but we play it out anyway. 

//WEBB// 

She leads me up the outside stairs to the front door to her apartment building. Sarah’s holding onto my hand, and I’m dutifully following behind her. As soon as we get in the door, I yank her to me and hold her in my arms, my lips immediately on hers. We lean against the door in the small lobby area and kiss. The electricity between us spikes when I venture to taste her lips with my tongue. She reacts with a small moan and opens her mouth to me. Our tongues meet in a soft encounter and just as we’re ramping up the exploration of each other’s mouths, we hear someone coming down the stairs. 

“Um, my apartment’s upstairs,” Sarah covers, as we back apart, and look to where one of her neighbors is on his way out. 

“Yeah, I’ve been here before,” I remind her. She must remember. I certainly do. I wonder very briefly what she saw in Mic Brumby. I save the question for later. Brumby is hardly who, or what, I want on my mind now. I’m in far too good of a mood to begin to solve the mystery of women and the men they pick. 

“I remember. I don’t have Jingo anymore, though. In fact, I don’t have Mic anymore.” Sarah refers to the fact that last time I was here, Mic had taken the dog out for a walk, while I talked to her about going to Russia.

“I’m glad,” I say in reply as we reach her front door. 

She turns to me, “Me, too.” 

Sarah puts her arms around my neck, and I allow my body to fall against her – this time, we’re making out while leaning on her apartment door. At least we’re closer now to getting inside her place. 

We kiss with freely expressed enthusiasm. She swipes her tongue over the roof of my mouth, and I take advantage, catching her lower lip between my teeth. I suck and nibble, loving the way she’s moving her hands over my back, alternately using her nails to scratch, and kneading my muscles. 

When I move my lips to her neck, to taste more of her sweet and salty skin, she says, “Would you like to come inside?” 

“Of you?” Damn it, that was kind of crude, and juvenile. I stop kissing her to gauge her reaction. 

“Play your cards right, and I might be able to arrange that. But let’s get inside my apartment first, shall we?” 

When Sarah affirms that we’re likely headed for her bedroom, I feel myself harden, and I press my hips against her. She tilts her head and smiles slyly, and then turns away to let us in.   
One lamp is on in the corner, and it gives enough light to make the room feel warm and welcoming. 

“Coffee?” Sarah offers, walking towards the kitchen. 

“No.” I follow her, but when I speak, she stops walking, and turns around. 

“Tea?” She tries again. 

“No.” Two more steps, and I’m just one more step from her. 

“Is this when I say ‘me?’” 

“Yes.” The last pace, and I’m there, right in front of her, not touching, reaching, or making a move to kiss her. I wait. 

Sarah waits, too. We’re grinning and staring at each other; I’m content to let the space between us fill with sexual tension as I study her face, then let my eyes linger over her body the way I’ve wanted to for probably seven years or so. 

Even as a spy, you can’t go around studying the bodies of the women you find attractive. I take turns going over her shape, and glancing to see what she’s looking at. Sarah’s eyes are darting between my face, my lips, and my body, too. 

“So...” she starts. 

“So,” I say in a confirming tone. 

We’re having this weird moment of truth or dare. My truth is that I want us to make the “dare” move. I want to feel her body with my hands, with my body, with my mouth; under me, over me, pleasuring me, as I do the same to her. 

Our movements are simultaneous. We meet mid-way, hand and lips everywhere. I taste her neck, flicking my tongue out, nibbling on her skin, and sucking lightly. I brace one hand against the wall behind her, as my other hand grasps the back of her head, a fist full of silky hair between my fingers, while our tongues duel back and forth, in and out. I hold my hips to hers, enjoying the feel of her body as I press my erection into her. Sarah puts her hands in my hair, slides her arms down to my back, leans her pelvis into me, and kisses me deeply and passionately. 

“You were right, we fit well together,” Sarah tells me. 

“Mmmm, yes, we do.” I smile into her lips, and continue to kiss her. She’s soft and firm all at the same time, and I can’t get enough of her. 

Sarah reaches lower on my back, and slides one hand to my rear, squeezing my muscles there, and presses me to her. I feel my erection surge with even more blood at the feeling of being held firmly against her. I return the favor, placing both of my hands on her butt and squeezing. The silky, soft material of her skirt slides under my grip, and I begin to hike it farther and farther up. 

Sarah catches on to what I’m doing, and smiles as we kiss, making our mouths and tongues get all tangled up. Soon we’re laughing, and have to stop kissing all together. 

“Something funny?” 

“No, not at all. This is very serious,” Sarah says between giggles, punctuating the word ‘serious’ by un-tucking my shirt from my pants. 

“Glad to hear it.” 

My hands have reached bare skin at the lower reaches of Sarah’s backside – her skirt is bunched up, and my fingers skim the backs of her thighs, teasing her at the seam of her panties. A hot panting in my ear encourages me, and I take my weight off Sarah, just now noticing that I’d had her pinned up against the wall. I separate from her enough to give my arms room, so I can bring my hands to her front, where I slip a finger beneath her panties, to find her warm, wet folds. 

I groan into Sarah’s mouth at finding her so slick and ready, and she thrusts her tongue towards mine. We kiss hungrily, while I find my way to her hot core with my fingers. Her muscles tighten around me momentarily, and I rhythmically slide two fingers in and out of her. 

“Feels great,” Sarah breathes, as she moves to rub herself against me harder and faster. 

I slip my fingers out of her, sliding them over her folds to find her swollen and ready clit. My body reacts at the same time hers does when I touch her there – she moans and leans into my touch; my cock gets impossibly harder, and I drop my lips to her neck to taste her skin, wanting nothing but to devour her, here and now. 

I concentrate on the way she’s breathing and moaning into my ear, warm heat hitting my skin there. With one hand I continue to manipulate her clit – my other hand reaches to her shirt, and I manage to unbutton it with one hand, anxious to touch more of her skin, which I’m discovering to be as silky as the material of her skirt. With that same hand, I skim the under-wire of her bra, then lift it up to expose one of her breasts, feeling the peak of her nipple with my fingertips, as I lightly pinch and tease. 

I twist my other hand around, it’s awkward, but worth it, because as soon as I thrust a finger inside Sarah, while passing my thumb over her clit, she sucks in a sharp breath at the end of a series of pants, and I feel her interior muscles clenching relentlessly around my finger. 

A minute later, I slide my finger out of her, and slowly kiss my way from her neck to her lips. 

“Take this someplace more comfortable?” Sarah wants to know. 

//MAC// 

That was great, but I want more. In fact, I feel like I can’t get enough. I feel like I could pounce on Clay in spite of the fact that I just had a very intense and satisfying orgasm. But I want to feel him inside me, all of him. 

I suggest to Clay that we go to my bedroom, knowing, of course, he wouldn’t refuse. If he had, I’d have been very surprised – and impressed with his restraint, because, from what I could tell, he was practically bursting out of his pants. 

I lead him down the hall, and am glad I made the bed with clean sheets just a few days ago. When I turn to tell him that, I don’t have the chance. His lips capture mine roughly, and he tumbles us to the bed. I chuckle at his enthusiasm, but as soon as I feel his hard-on pressing into me again, and the full weight of his body on top of mine, I’m lost again. His hands come up to my shoulders to push my shirt off, and I sit up a little to get rid of my bra. In no time, I’m completely naked, and pulling him into a standing position again, intending to undress him, but we get distracted just kissing. Well, not *just* kissing – his hands are all over me, and I firmly grasp his cock through his pants. 

I finally get down to business and get his belt off, stripping it out of the belt loops in one movement, and tossing it away. While I’m dealing with the button and zipper, Clay steps out of his shoes, and I take his pants and boxers down at the same time. Clay puts his hand on my shoulder while he steps out of his pants, underwear, and socks, with my help. I stand and slide my hands up his legs as I do, ending with his cock in my hand. Clay closes his eyes at my touch, while shedding his shirt and undershirt, discarding them onto the floor. 

“I really want you,” he whispers. 

That fact is already pretty clear, but hearing him say the words is flattering and sexy. I continue to relish the smoothness of his cock, which belies how hard he is. 

“We should make sure all our bases are covered.” I hate having this conversation, but it’s necessary. 

“Yeah,” Clay agrees. 

That’s as far as we get with ‘the talk’ for now. Clay’s finally naked, and I’m enjoying his body – the curves of the muscles on his arms, as he squeezes my breasts, and leans to take a nipple in his mouth; the way his spine bends in that position; and the texture of his tongue swirling around the hard peak of my areola and nipple. 

When he straightens up, we crash our bodies together, kissing and grasping at each other. His cock ends up between my legs and I squeeze it there, so close to where I really want him. Clay’s hands are on my rear, and he leans low to reach his fingers around to my wet opening, straining to reach his goal. 

“Do you have any condoms?” 

I’m glad I didn’t have to ask him to wear one. I like it when men take equal responsibility, and since I brought up the topic... Well, Clay doesn’t strike me as the wham-bam type who doesn’t care about the consequences, anyway. 

“Yeah, I think so.” In truth, I know I’ve got a full box in my nightstand. I see it there every time I open the drawer. 

Reluctantly breaking contact, I walk to the side of my bed, and bend to find the box. Clay apparently followed me, because when I lean over, I feel his hands snake around my waist, his cock pressing at my backside. Small kisses are placed onto my skin in seemingly random places on my back. 

I pull the box out and stand up straight. Clay reaches around me to open the package, and pulls out a couple of the square wrappers, making one spin down to land on the bed, keeping the other in his hand, and bending us both forward to put the box back in the drawer. 

We move to the bed, and I push him back against the covers, playing my fingers over his skin here and there as I move them downwards. As I pass his hands, which are at his sides, I take the condom, and unwrap it. Before I pull it down and over his erection, I let my tongue slide up his shaft, causing Clay to moan loudly. 

I quickly unroll the prophylactic over him, and move my legs on either side of his hips. Clay reaches his hands to my hips and guides me onto him. I sink slowly down, and relish the way he fills me up. Though it’s not been long since he made me come, I feel like the winding up inside me is completely new. Clay’s eyes open to meet mine, and he nails me with an intense stare – his green eyes dark and deep. I drop my hands to either side of Clay’s head, and arch my back to bring my chest to his. 

The rough feel of the hair on his chest stimulates my nipples, and I writhe my body over his, completely relaxed and free in the moment. Clay’s got his hands on my hips, working me up and down, as he slams into me over and over. We turn to face one another at the same time, desperate to kiss. 

Hot, open kisses, tongues dueling back and forth; I’m close to the edge, and I think Clay is, too. Suddenly, he makes a move to flip us over. I resist at first, and then relent. Once he’s on top of me, we move together towards the relief of release. With my legs up high around his torso, Clay clutches his fingers in my hair, nuzzles his face in the crook of my neck, and plunges into me over and over. I shift our position, so he’s hitting me just right on the inside, as well as the outside. 

“Like that,” I say; and I’m over the edge again. 

Less than fifteen seconds later, Clay groans as he comes, pulsing inside me. Afterwards, I throw my arms out wide onto the bed, and Clay combs my hair with his fingers, while repeatedly kissing my cheek. 

A few minutes of silence envelopes us, and I think we’re both happy to just be in the moment. I’ve got my nose in his hair at his hairline, and he smells like the exertion of sex and like his shampoo. At last, Clay moves to get up, being careful with the condom. 

Out of the bathroom quickly, I take a turn in there, and when I come out, he’s under the covers, lying on his stomach, facing the door to the bathroom. 

“I think I’ve wanted to do that ever since I saw you in that dress you wore to the Sudanese Embassy,” Clay says, as I cross the room to get into bed with him. 

“That dress *you* picked out? You sure you weren’t thinking about this *before* you saw me in it?” I stand still, put my hands on my hips, and challenge him, but with a smile on my face. 

“Okay, I confess,” he smiles back, propping himself up on one elbow, continuing to gaze up at me. 

“I thought so.” 

“Well, you’re certainly sure of yourself, aren’t you?” His grin gets positively devilish, but with a very sexy edge to it. 

“You’re the one who was leering at me.” 

“You called me ‘James Bond.’” 

This could get interesting, if we begin to rehash all of our encounters over the past seven and a half years. Even if we don’t talk about it tonight, I know we’re going to eventually discuss our first meeting, when he used me to find Uncle Matt. But for now, I’m enjoying verbally sparring in this playful way. “You *are* a spy, with spy gadgets, like Bond.” 

“You’ve also called me ‘loveable.’” Clay reaches out to tug me to the bed, and I land next to him, leaning back against his body. 

“Hey! Who told you that?” I’m not sure if I’m embarrassed, or glad someone told him about that. I pretend to struggle to get up, letting him hold me in place. 

“I *am* the spy with the spy gadgets.” 

“Yeah, right. Harm told you, didn’t he?” There was no one else I said that to, I don’t think. 

“He did.” Letting me go, Clay scoots back so I can get under the covers with him. 

“Well, you are.” I shiver a little, relishing how warm Clay’s body is against my chilled skin. I face him, and Clay’s arms wind around me. 

"It took you this long to tell me yourself?” 

“I was just waiting for the right time.” What else can I say? I suspect what he’s really doing is feeling out when our mutual attraction began and why it was only now that we let it surface. 

“You think this,” he moves to wave a hand between us, “was about waiting until the timing was right?” 

I think that theory over, and have to agree, “Yeah. You?” 

“Very much so. At least for me. Suriname was a kind of a wake up call. I’d been too bogged down with work for too long; had lost perspective. Suriname and Therese snapped me out of that.” 

Okay, I’m not sure I want to hear about this Therese woman. I must betray my feelings with my expression, because Clay immediately tells me that while she wasn’t someone he was in love with, he had been physically involved with her in Paramaribo, and that she had become a true friend. He tells me she was instrumental in helping him see the slump he’d been in. 

“She also made me realize that I’d been wanting to have a relationship with someone for a while. Coming back to DC, I confess I found myself thinking a lot about you. I’m so glad you were there tonight; and that you weren’t there with Rabb.” 

“Me, too – about Rabb. But if I hadn’t been there? Would you have called me and asked me out?” 

After a hesitation, wherein I think he’s truly considering the question, Clay answers, “Probably.” 

“Okay,” I say, kissing him, and snuggling down into the covers, putting my head on his chest. 

Embracing me closer, Clay kisses the top of my head and hums. I think he’s falling asleep, but I’m wide-awake, satiated, but not sleepy. I let my mind wander over the past few years, remembering encountering Clay on the Sea Hawk, him showing up in my dream about the trial of the Captain of the Somers, Clay keeping a cool head even when Harm diverged from the plan in Bahrain – and looking quite good in that light colored suit, now that I think about it. 

It’s a couple of hours later when I wake up, not remembering dozing off. I look at Clay in the ambient light, and find him staring back at me.“You’re awake,” I state. 

“Yeah, I felt you move, and woke up. I’m a really light sleeper.” 

“Sorry,” I say, wondering if he ever gets a full and restful night’s sleep, especially if he’s with someone. 

“I’m not.” His lips find mine in the near dark, and we kiss for several minutes. It’s warm and comfortable, until we’re suddenly breathing hard, and the heat between us is making me hot and sweaty. I can feel the warmth radiating off Clay, too. I toss the covers aside, and Clay rolls me over to kiss his way down my body. Everywhere his lips touch my skin, he leaves a moist trail, and I can feel each of those places cooling my burning body. 

Clay kneads my breasts, taking turns with each nipple between his teeth, swirling his tongue around and around. A hundred individual kisses later, his lips find the juncture of my legs, and his hands slide up my thighs. At the same time that his tongue finds the bundle of nerves between my folds, he plunges two fingers into my core. Clay concentrates on my clit, flicking his tongue back and forth, and I’m lost in a dream-like stupor, simply feeling him bring me to the edge, and then over. Crying out, “Clay,” I struggle to come out of my haze, reaching to bring him back up to me. 

Clay kisses me on the lips, and then looks down at me, his hair going in all directions. 

“I want you,” I tell him. 

“That’s my line.”

Kissing me again, I feel Clay reaching across the bed. It takes me a second to remember the other condom he’d pulled out of the box. Kneeling up, Clay unwraps the condom, and unrolls it over his erection. It’s so sexy to see him before me like this, and as soon as he’s done, I pull him back to me, quickly guiding him inside. It’s rougher this time, and Clay surprises me by rolling us over so that I’m on top of him. I’m happy to oblige, and while I move up and down on his shaft, he reaches for my breasts, pinching at my nipples. Slipping a hand between us, Clay manipulates my clit between his forefinger and thumb. 

As I rise and fall, he pants, and I watch as Clay clenches his eyes shut, pinching my clit harder, which sends me over the edge. When I come down from the quick-bursting orgasm, I look down, and Clay’s got his eyes wide-open, though they’re clouded over with desire. He bites his lower lip, as I return his stare, and I concentrate on not losing eye contact as he comes, tightening my internal muscles around him to heighten his pleasure. 

This time, I’m asleep in seconds after we’ve each freshened up in the bathroom a little bit. The next time I’m awake it’s 0730 – the latest I’ve slept in, in ages. Clay’s snoring lightly, and I try not to move, so I can take a second to watch him. His hair is still messy, and he’s got stubble growing on his face, but he looks happy. Other than the stubble, I think I probably look much the same. Eyelids flutter and open, revealing bright green eyes; Clay smiles and closes his eyes again. 

“Not a dream, right?” 

“Nope.” I can’t help laughing a little at his cute question. 

“Good. It’s Saturday; come here, and go back to sleep,” Clay requests with outstretched arms. 

//WEBB// 

I’ve changed my mind; getting reassigned to Suriname was the second best thing to happen to me. Though I needed that time to realize what I was missing – someone to make love to, and to fall in love with – Sarah MacKenzie.

END


End file.
